


Subject A

by erebones



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (sort of), Blowjobs, First Time, M/M, Medical Kink, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Rimming, Science, Tentacle Dick, laboratory sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos produced a recorder from his trouser pocket and clicked it on. “Subject A, Cecil Baldwin, Night Vale resident.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subject A

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Long-Term Commitment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/917802) by [Are](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Are/pseuds/Are). 



> Took the "scientific observation" vein from Are's fic and expanded upon it. This is post-First Date, but pre-First Sexytimes.

Cecil rapped smartly on the door, three and one-quarter times exactly to announce the presence of a friend, and stepped back. There was the sound of something clattering to the floor, rapid footsteps from inside the house, and there was Carlos throwing open the door, smile a mile wide. Cecil grinned back, chest swelling.

“Hello. I’m not late, am I? Only there was a bit of a mix-up with the roads, and I had to go a little out of my way.”

“Construction?” Carlos asked, an adorable frown creasing his brows together. He stepped back to let Cecil in, and Cecil made a point of brushing up against him as he passed, shoulder to chest. The full-body shiver that rippled through Carlos’ body was well worth the PDA reprimand he’d be getting in the mail later.

“No, just switching roads about. They do it every other year or so. Keeps residents from getting too comfortable.”

The door closed and latched, and Carlos took Cecil’s coat like a perfect gentleman. “Sounds like a great deal of bother,” he remarked, always so sweetly frank and innocent. It made Cecil want to click his heels together. “So, did you want anything before we start? Tea, coffee? I think I have some merlot in the fridge. They haven’t banned grapes or grape by-products, have they?”

“Nope,” Cecil replied cheerfully. “Just the wheat.” He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. “And I’ll take the merlot, please.”

“Great.”

Carlos didn’t have any wineglasses, but Cecil didn’t mind a little informality. Wine in hand, Carlos led him through the house to the personal lab he’d set up in the back room. It was neat and crisp, everything in its place, the shelves organized precisely and a clear absence of dust making all the equipment gleam in the slender beams of sunlight coming through the shaded window. Carlos gestured to a stool in the middle of the room, and Cecil sat.

“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to take some measurements and things to start.”

There was a low tray for tools next to the stool, so Cecil set down his wine and took off his vest and necktie, which Carlos took. He undid the buttons at collar and wrists, pushing up his sleeves informally and letting his collar spread open at the throat.

“I’m ready,” he announced, nearly vibrating with excitement. He’d never been a subject in scientific study before; and there was no scientist he’d rather have examine him than dear, sweet, perfect Carlos.

“Let’s start with the basics.” Carlos had thrown a white lab coat over his Harvard U tee, and he took a small watch out of one of the pockets.

“I thought you said clocks in Night Vale don’t work,” Cecil said as Carlos took his wrist in one hand and kept an eye on the watch with the other.

“They don’t work if you compare them with clocks from other places,” Carlos explained. “I figure, you’re a Night Vale resident, have been all your life, so your body is attuned to the times and rhythms of this place. A local pocket watch will probably take your BPM better than a foreign one. So to speak.” He smiled, only a little distracted by counting in his head, and Cecil’s heart did a funny little pitter-pat.

That done, Carlos stepped back and replaced the pocket watch. “You don’t mind if I do an audio recording of this, do you? I can’t exactly _write_ my findings down.”

“Of course not!” Cecil chirped, sharing a knowing laugh at the thought of _writing_. Carlos was an outsider, but he wasn’t _stupid_.

“Perfect.” Carlos produced a recorder from his trouser pocket and clicked it on. “Subject A, Cecil Baldwin, Night Vale resident.” He was speaking a little louder and more enunciated than he normally did, projecting toward the recording device. “Has spent the majority of his life living in Night Vale.” He broke off to address Cecil in his normal voice. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight years, two months, and thirteen days,” Cecil answered promptly. “According to Night Vale time, anyway.”

“Birthday?”

“August fourth.”

“Right, good.” He clipped the recording device to his lab coat collar and continued. “Heartbeats per minute: ninety-two. A little elevated, but not out of the normal way. Blood pressure….” He paused to Velcro a wide black band around Cecil’s upper arm, rolling the sleeve past it and placing a cold metal circle on the tender inner skin of Cecil’s elbow. “I’m going to puff this up –” he tapped the band “– and get a reading on your blood pressure. All right?”

At Cecil’s placid nod, he inflated the black band quickly, almost to the point of pain, and watched the white analogue dial affixed to it. Cecil, in turn, watched Carlos. He was in his element here, finding and recording data for later observation. Cecil was fascinated. He loved the little twitch of Carlos’ left eyelid as he read the dial, the concentrated furrow of his brows, the way he occasionally drew his lower lip between his teeth and let the skin slide back slowly until the entire area was gently pinked with blood.

Cecil was so absorbed that he was caught off guard when Carlos suddenly ripped the Velcro free and said, loudly and clearly, “One-twenty over eighty, excellent.”

A penlight was next, shone into Cecil’s eyes while his glasses were slid down to balance on the elegant arch of his nose. It was a bit blinding – though not nearly as blinding as staring at the sun for five straight minutes – but it was worth it to hear the reverent gasp that Carlos gave right before babbling a long list of adjectives into the recorder, among them ‘dazzling,’ ‘architectural,’ and ‘like the night sky after a thunderstorm.’

“I think your eyes are lovely, too,” he said when Carlos put the penlight away. The scientist blushed deep vermilion and cleared his throat, turning away to rummage in his toolkit for the next item, but Cecil knew he was pleased.

Reflexes were next – apparently Cecil’s were well above average – and then Carlos asked him to take off his shirt.

“It’ll make it easier to check your heart and lungs,” he said, but he was blushing. Cecil felt that he was probably blushing, too, as he undid the rest of his buttons and shrugged out of his button-down and undershirt. Carlos took them and folded them very neatly, putting them aside with the waistcoat and necktie before returning with a set of stethoscopes. “Just in case,” he said, even though Cecil had no idea that two was a bit extraneous. Carlos, after all, was the expert.

Carlos tucked his grown-out hair behind his ears and put the earpieces in before moving to stand behind Cecil. Cecil could hear him exhaling exaggeratedly, and then there was a circle of cool (but not cold) metal resting on Cecil’s back just above one shoulder blade. “Inhale,” Carlos directed. "Exhale."

The procedure continued until Carlos was satisfied, and then he moved around to stand between Cecil’s legs. Cecil let his knees fall open a little wider to admit him closer, and that blush rose again on Carlos’ face. "Inhale," he whispered, and Cecil did so, almost tasting the wine on Carlos' breath. "Exhale."

He took less time with the front than the back, and Cecil noticed that his observations into the recording device – _enormous lung capacity, healthy heartbeat in spite of perpetual smoking habit_ – were both quicker and hoarser than before. He himself had begun to sweat, prickling under his arms and along the middle of his back between his shoulder blades. He licked his lips as Carlos pulled out a slide ruler and began taking measurements: arms, breadth of chest, length of chest, legs and entire length from bare soles to the top of his head.

“Should I take off my trousers?” Cecil asked roughly. “To make data-taking easier.”

Carlos’ wide eyes softened only a fraction at the perfectly logical explanation. Still, he nodded, and Cecil bent his head to the task of tackling his flies with hands that shook. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, what he was revealing by taking off nearly everything he was wearing. Carlos’ lab coat hid any incriminating evidence, but Cecil sincerely hoped that he wasn’t alone in his reaction to the… scientific tests.

He pushed his trousers down his thighs and stepped out of them, shaking one foot free as it caught on the upturned cuff. He didn’t think he was imagining the ragged exhale Carlos released as he settled himself back on the stool, feet on the lowest rung and knees comfortably spread to allow room for the prominent ridge between his thighs. He could feel the pulse of blood to his groin, and the faint stickiness of the slit in his pelvic region beginning to bulge open with its engorged contents.

“Ahem.”

Cecil looked up, and found Carlos beet-red, a few strands of his hair sticking darkly to his sweaty forehead. “Everything all right?” he inquired, aiming for innocent; but the thickness of his voice made any emotion at all but raging desire a bit hard to feign.

“Perfectly.” Carlos coughed, turned, took a swig of his wine, and turned back again. “Arms up, please, I’d like to count your ribs.”

Cecil was impressed. In spite of being flustered to the point of stammering his observations into the recorder – _two extra ribs on either s-side, extra layer of th-th-thoraxic muscles to accompany them, um. Remnants of a, um, a second set of shoulder blades below the f-first, perhaps indic- ah, indicative of an extra set of arms in previous evolutionary ancestors –_ Carlos was still intent on examining every inch of Cecil in the driest, most scientific manner possible. When Carlos touched him, it was brief and not at all luxurious; when he got close to examine a finer point, it was only for a moment before withdrawing again just as quickly.

It was driving Cecil mad. He was having a hard time keeping himself contained, now: his inner genitalia were fighting the constraints of his outer folds, which were sadly unequipped to the task of containing them, and he could smell his own musk hovering in the air. A quick glance down while Carlos was occupied with some instrument or other in the corner told him that his pre-seminal fluids were starting to seep through the thin, dark cotton of his boxer briefs. He shifted on the stool, and the pressure of the padding pressing back between his legs drew a stifled sound from his throat in reaction.

Carlos turned, beaker in hand. “You okay, Cecil? We can stop at any time if you’re uncomfortable.”

 _Uncomfortable’s one word for it_ , he thought, a bit manically. But he shook his head, and plastered on a smile that trembled slightly around the edges as he replied, “Oh, I’m just dandy. What’s that f-for?” Oh god, now he was stammering, too.

“I’d like to collect some fluid samples, if that’s all right.” Cecil’s belly swooped extravagantly until Carlos added, “Saliva, you know, and maybe your blood if you’re okay with needles.”

“Oh,” Cecil said, and his voice cracked neatly right down the middle. “Sure.”

He took the test tube when Carlos handed it to him, and even though his hands were shaking, he managed to expectorate a good amount of saliva into it. Carlos took it back, eyes zeroed in on the faintly glowing material; he held it up to the light, quiet in his reflection, and Cecil wondered if he’d forgotten about the recording device still clipped to his collar.

God, this was unbearable. He was next to naked, and yet his body was on fire, every inch of him feeling overheated and itchy as sweat popped to the surface of his skin. He could feel one of the bigger genital appendages easing out of his slit, and the rasp of cotton against its slick, tender exterior was maddening.

“Carlos.” Good, his voice was steady. “There’s something –” And it died, falling off as if his vocal chords had forgotten how to operate. He swallowed, looking askance from Carlos’ curious gaze, and tried again. “Something that might interest you. About me. Physiologically.”

“Yeah?” Suddenly Carlos seemed breathless, too, even more so than when Cecil had dropped trou with hardly any provocation. “What… what sort of thing?”

“It’s, um. Well, I’m given to believe that… that people here, in Night Vale, aren’t precisely _human_. In some ways. My.” Oh, god, come _on_. “My reproductive, uh, organs aren’t really the norm. For. For people. Men.”

A strange kind of understanding was dawning on Carlos’ face, followed immediately by an adorable, wrinkled confusion. “Are you…? I mean, I’m sorry – you seem to have, um, the.” He waved his hand toward the bulging, oozing _thing_ in Cecil’s underpants. The many things, though at this point and from this angle it was impossible for Carlos to tell. “The usual equipment. Or… surgery?”

Cecil was frozen with utter confusion for a few miserable, awkward heartbeats before understanding snapped into place like a released rubber band. “ _Oh_. No, no I’m not transgender. I, well.” He rubbed reflexively at the elastic band of the boxer briefs with two fingers, feeling oversensitive and breathless with arousal. “Perhaps I should just… show you?” He hadn’t intended to frame it as a question, but somehow his voice slid upward at the end anyway.

Carlos cleared his throat, tugged at his collar absently. He didn’t seem to notice when his wrist brushed against the recording device, but Cecil definitely noticed that when the sides of the lab coat were parted briefly, Carlos’ jeans were very much tented in the front. “Yeah,” Carlos rasped. “Yeah, sure.”

The glimpse into Carlos’ own discomposure gave Cecil courage. He stood and bent over at the waist, tugging his briefs down his sticky, sweaty thighs with some effort. They puddled darkly on the floor, and the rush of cool air over his groin was nearly heaven-sent. He exhaled shakily, gratefully, as he straightened and exposed himself: the swollen front of him lightly dusted with pubic hair, lips pouting open to reveal the blood-dark penises barely contained within.

Carlos’ eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropped down – and after a few moments of strained silence, he made one last valiant effort.

“Subject A’s genitalia are… exceedingly unlike any human reproductive organs,” he croaked, taking a halting step forward. “Consists of a vulva-like slit in the pubic region, positioned considerably higher than the traditional female organ. Ruddy when – when aroused, and opening to reveal… to reveal…” He stopped, throat clicking.  

“Carlos,” Cecil breathed. The scientist’s attention snapped to him immediately, and the power of that addled, desperate gaze fed Cecil’s tongue, gave life back to his vocal chords. “You can take a closer look.”

It was hardly a suggestion, but then, Carlos didn’t require much persuading. He lowered himself to his knees, shakily, one at a time, until he knelt in front of Cecil with his face of a height with Cecil’s groin. Carlos’ lips were parted to accommodate his heavy breathing, and every exhale was like a feather-light touch against Cecil’s sensitive, slick flesh. He gripped the stool hard and watched, spellbound, as Carlos leaned forward and inhaled deeply before drawing his tongue along the blood-hot edge of one lip.

Cecil couldn’t help it. He cried out, sharp and ringing in the small room, and his members spilled free, a few of them slapping lightly against Carlos’ stubbled face as they fell into the open air, seething and throbbing with his hummingbird heartbeat.

“Fuck,” he gasped, the word caught between mortification and unstoppable arousal. His knuckles were white around the padded edge of the stool, and he had to fight to keep his hips from jerking forward as he turned his head away. “Carlos, god, I’m so sorry –”

“Shh.” Carlos hands were on him then, suddenly, _finally_ , heavy and warm and lasting as they pressed into his bare hips. Cecil looked down at him, still fully clothed, a few smears of fluid gleaming on his face, and found that he was _laughing_ , silent and still joyful. “It’s fine. Is this okay?”

“More than,” Cecil gasped, and then he was shouting at the ceiling as Carlos brought his mouth back to the right side of his open slit and sucked the wet fold into his mouth.

Carlos’ hands curving firm and grounding around his hips decided him: in a flurry of movement, Cecil released the stool and buried his fingers in Carlos’ long, curling, decadent hair. Just the feel of it around his hands was a shock of heat to his groin, and he moaned, chest feeling tight from too little air. Below, Carlos worked his mouth around to the other side, probing into Cecil’s body when he reached the height of the slit, gone from a long, narrow pucker to a wide-open stretch. He keened when Carlos’ tongue breeched him, feet scrabbling on the floor, and then Carlos dragged his tongue down one of his genital members and Cecil’s brain shorted out.

“Wow,” Carlos breathed, sitting back on his heels. His mouth and chin gleamed, and the front of his shirt was drenched. Little specks of ejaculate gleamed like translucent pearls on the pristine white collar of his lab coat. Cecil sagged, shuddering with the pulsing aftershocks. “You okay?”

“Never… been better,” Cecil gasped. He realized his fingers were still laced tightly in Carlos’ hair, and he released him quickly. “Oh my god.” His members were starting to recede slightly, but when Carlos stroked one with the backs of his knuckles, the penis in question jerked interestedly in response.

“Could you come again?” Carlos asked. “What’s your refractory period?”

“With you? No such thing.” Cecil grinned, and trailed one thumb down the clear fluid still glistening on Carlos’ cheek. “But I can wait. First…” He slid his thumb into Carlos’ mouth, and the scientist groaned deep in his chest.

It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but they ended up on the rather rickety old couch shoved into one corner of Carlos’ lab, the papers and file folders stacked neatly on its cushions now scattered on the floor. Cecil bent over him, knees on the floor but hardly feeling discomfort as he took Carlos in his mouth, laving him worshipfully with his tongue and feeling every possible nuance of his cock with his fingers. _My turn to examine you_ , he thought victoriously, and when Carlos came he drank him down, chasing the salt-bitter taste of him at the corners of his mouth and down inside the pouting slit as far as his blunt tongue could probe.

“Fuck me now,” Carlos begged, his limbs clumsy and heavy with orgasm as he tried to shove his trousers down. “Please, Cecil, please fuck me.”

Cecil couldn’t refuse. He carried Carlos through the house to his bedroom and laid him out on the blankets, lying with his face between Carlos’ thighs and his mouth on his arse. He took his time licking him out, working him to pliancy while Carlos gasped and twitched above him. And, slowly, he returned to full hardness, to Carlos’ own utter disbelief and Cecil’s eager acceptance. Time, after all, was relative – especially in Night Vale.

“Come on, come on,” Carlos chanted, shifting restlessly against the sheets. He grabbed his own thighs and pulled them back and apart, spreading himself widely for Cecil, and the sight drove all the blood southward. Cecil mounted him in one smooth movement, his own thighs spread; the slow inward push of one slick member had Carlos’ head thrown back and his mouth open in a soundless howl.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cecil breathed. His hands spread wide over Carlos’ chest, pushing up the soft fabric of his tee-shirt; rubbed over Carlos’ nipples until they were rosy-red, pinched his belly and scraped through his chest hair. “Gorgeous. God, _fuck_.”

He pumped his hips slowly, knowing the depth and breadth of his member was more than enough to satisfy Carlos. The others curled around Carlos’ hips, against his balls, around the heavy weight of his erection lying hot and thick against his belly. Cecil bent and rubbed his face into the crook of Carlos’ neck, groaning.

“You feel amazing,” he said, and flicked his tongue out to taste the salty sweat of Carlos’ skin. More than that, it was sweet, like sun-warmed figs, like cane sugar and hazelnuts cracked open to the savory meat inside. “ _Carlos_.”

“Please,” Carlos panted. “Come inside me. I want to feel you come.”

Cecil would have been content to hold that pace, fucking Carlos until they were both weak and rubbery and aching to find release. But that plea, that soft voice stretched thin, pulled at him, drew him out, and before he could quite regain control of himself he was coming, drenching them both in the fragrant fluids of his orgasm. His members, fully sated, were quick to withdraw, and he could only give a few last pitiful pushes before they would no longer fit inside Carlos’ body. But those last few were enough. With Cecil’s hand on his prick and a few shallow, desperate thrusts inside his body, Carlos was coming.

It was a thing of beauty to watch. Carlos laid on his side, stomach pressed to Carlos’ flank, and watched as his lover’s prick throbbed and twitched with every pulse, spilling thick white fluid onto his belly. At the end of it, Carlos sagged back into the mattress like a wet rag and let Cecil trail his fingers through the mess, bringing it back to his mouth to suck.

“So,” Carlos whispered. “Tentacles, huh?”

Cecil’s nose twitched. “The preferred term is genital appendages. Or members, if we’re going to be casual about it.”

Carlos’ eyes grew wary. “Casual… sex?”

“No, no. I meant…” Cecil’s grin grew shark-like. “If we’re going to be doing this _regularly_ , there’s no need to be _formal._ ”

“ _Oh_. No, of course not.” Carlos watched Cecil licking up the rest of his semen, nose wrinkled faintly. “I can’t decide if that’s hot or gross.”

“Why not both?” Cecil sucked his forefinger in deep, chasing the last traces, and slumped back down. His eyes drifted over Carlos’ belly to the tee-shirt pushed up around his armpits and the lab coat still straggling beneath them, looking a great deal the worse for wear. He giggled. “Oops.”

“Mm. Oops, what?”

Cecil reached out and unclipped the recording device from Carlos’ collar, grinning wickedly. “Still recording, _Subject B_.”


End file.
